Category: Street Photography

Clisson — A Guilty Pleasure

Posted on Posted in Camera reviews, photography philosophy, Reportage, Street Photography, Travel photographyTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Gear: Canon EOS 6D Mark II | 16–35mm | 24–70mm | 70–300mm | CPL filter

A warm Wednesday in May. Clisson. Back in April I was here with the EOS 500 and wrote that I was missing the Canon 6D Mark II. Well.

I’ve been here before, of course. You don’t live in this part of France and not find yourself back in Clisson every so often. The medieval castle, the weirs, the old bridge with its stone cross, the Italian terraces creeping up the hillside. It has a slightly unreal quality, like someone has taken a corner of Tuscany and dropped it quietly into the Loire-Atlantique. The Sèvre Nantaise was running high and brown today — all that recent rain — which made the weirs more dramatic than usual, churning white water over the stone steps.

I came down through the town from the castle side. The bunting was up across the streets near the main square, yellow and red triangles strung between the buildings, flapping gently. A woman on a bicycle was navigating the cobblestones with considerable confidence. Two men were eating lunch outside on a terrace — “Bon appétit, messieurs” — and they looked up and smiled. These small things matter. The panama hat was on. I was in no hurry.

The juice bar near the bridge foot, Juste un Jus, had the castle tower rising directly behind it like a film set. I stood there for a moment with the 24–70mm and took the shot. Sometimes Clisson just hands you a composition.

Crossing the Pont Saint-Antoine, I stopped at the stone cross near the midpoint. It’s a modest thing really, weathered and lichen-covered, but the view it frames looking back toward the château is extraordinary. The cobblestones, the parapet, the ruined towers against the sky. I took several frames here and kept coming back to it. One of those spots where you don’t quite want to leave.

Below the bridge on the town side, a woman was standing at the water’s edge looking up at the arches. She wasn’t posing. She was just there, in her own thoughts, which made the photograph. Further along the bank, white calla lilies were growing wild in a tangle of green at the river’s edge, the old stone arch just visible beyond them. The 70–300mm earns its weight on a day like this.

The path along the Sèvre heading away from town is lush in May. The linden trees were in blossom, hanging overhead in the dappled shade. Yellow wildflowers were growing right down to the waterline, their stems reflected in the brown moving water. I don’t know the name of every plant I photograph. Sometimes it doesn’t matter.

On the way back through the streets I noticed a small yellow letterbox set into the wall. “POSTES — CLISSON.” It seemed like a reasonable way to end the afternoon.

On était bien là.

Article notes

On the Canon 6D Mark II in 2026: Yes, it was released in 2017. Yes, Canon has long since moved on to the EOS R series. No, I don’t particularly care.

I came to Clisson knowing this outing would feel different. I wanted to test that honestly: same town, same kind of light, a familiar subject, but a different tool. And it does get the job done. It gets the job done very well. But did I feel like I was cheating? In some respects, yes.

The 6D Mark II is in many ways point and shoot. The autofocus makes decisions quickly and accurately. The image stabilisation in the lenses gives you frames you would simply never achieve on film — handheld shots at slower shutter speeds that come out clean, details in low-contrast shade that hold together. You don’t have to count frames or worry about whether a scene is worth the cost of the shot. You can try things freely. And yet I was shooting mindfully, the same way I would with film. Pausing. Looking. Deciding before pressing the shutter rather than after. The camera was doing more of the mechanical work, but the intention was the same.

Which is where the imposter syndrome creeps in.

Do I deserve the results? The images are good because the light was good and the composition was considered and the 6D Mark II’s full-frame sensor handled everything it was asked to handle. But some small part of me wonders how much of that I can genuinely claim. With the EOS 500 you earn each frame by committing to it. You have thirty-six shots. No preview. No second chance. The discipline is built in. With digital, the discipline has to come from you, and it is easier to let it slip without noticing.

The 16–35mm was a deliberate experiment. I knew it would show me Clisson differently. Getting low near the castle, letting the wide end exaggerate the height of the towers, using the diagonal of the outer wall as a lead-in. That is something the EOS 500 and a fixed 24mm simply cannot do. I shot on aperture priority for most of the day, which kept me thinking about depth of field rather than handing everything over to the camera. It felt like the right balance: let the 6D Mark II handle the exposure arithmetic, but keep the creative decisions in hand. For the 70–300mm I switched to shutter priority. At that focal length you need to know the shutter speed is fast enough to keep things sharp, particularly with the river moving, people on the bridge, wildflowers shifting in any breeze. The compression and selective focus that lens gives you — the yellow wildflowers sharp against the blurred water behind them — only works if the shutter is doing its job. These are results I would never get on film. The workhorse earns its place.

The CPL filter helped throughout. It deepened that May sky, cut the glare off the weir, brought the riverbank green back from what the flat midday sun was trying to do to it. One of those practical things you stop noticing until you see what the images look like without one.

The colours are perhaps the starkest difference from film — and I should say, the most obvious one, given that the AGFA APX 100 I use in the EOS 500 is a black and white negative film. There is no colour to compare. The 6D Mark II gives you the full scene: the terracotta of the buildings, the vivid green of the May riverbank, the blue the CPL filter pulls out of the sky above the castle towers. AGFA APX 100 gives you grain, tone, contrast, texture. A different kind of truth about the same place. Neither is more correct. That is exactly why it is worth doing both.

Then there is the edit. The 16 images I kept were processed with minimal adjustment and a single Portra preset — a film emulation based on Kodak Portra colour negative film. Warm lifted shadows, a slight vignette, teal-shifted blues. The result is that these digital files, shot on a nine-year-old DSLR to see what digital could do that film cannot, have been processed to look as much like film as possible. I did not plan that irony. But there it is.

One concrete number from the day: 123 frames, 16 strong images. A 13% hit rate. On a roll of 36 with the EOS 500 I would expect to come back with 4 or 5 solid keepers — roughly the same proportion. The digital camera gave me more attempts, more flexibility, no cost per frame. The ratio stayed almost identical. That is either reassuring or unsettling depending on your mood. It suggests the extra frames didn’t make me careless. It also suggests that 36 frames of discipline might have found those 16 anyway.

But yes. Guilty pleasure. I know it is just a tool, and a good one. I know the results come from the eye as much as the camera. I know all the rational arguments. And I will keep making them to myself, probably for longer than I should, every time I reach for it instead of the film bag.

Previous Clisson outings: 7th April 2026 with the EOS 500 and 25th January 2026 with the Nikon FE.

Château de Clisson towers seen from below against deep blue May sky, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm CPL filter
Château de Clisson keep from the rocky base
Pont Saint-Antoine bridge and weir on the Sèvre Nantaise, Clisson town buildings beyond, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm
Pont Saint-Antoine Clisson from the stone riverbank, weir foreground and church tower beyond, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm Caption: Clisson from the bank
Two people sitting on stone bridge parapet in Clisson, backs to camera, green May trees beyond, Canon 6D Mark II 70-300mm
View along the Sèvre Nantaise from Pont Saint-Antoine, Clisson church tower and riverside houses in lush May green, Canon 6D Mark II
Stone cross on Pont Saint-Antoine with Château de Clisson in background, cobblestone bridge leading to medieval towers, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm
Juste un Jus juice bar in Clisson with medieval castle tower rising behind it, Canon 6D Mark II 24-70mm
Clisson street with yellow and red bunting, cyclist on cobblestones, terracotta building and mural, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm
Yellow POSTES letterbox set into dark green wall stamped CLISSON, Canon 6D Mark II 24-70mm Loire-Atlantique
White calla lilies growing wild at edge of Sèvre Nantaise, ivy-covered stone arch beyond, Clisson, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm
Linden tree blossom hanging over riverside path along the Sèvre Nantaise in May, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm Clisson
Yellow wildflowers sharp against blurred brown Sèvre Nantaise river, Canon 6D Mark II 70-300mm shutter priority, Clisson
Handwritten French rainbow quote on linen curtain in Clisson shop window, green shutters, Canon 6D Mark II 16-35mm
Old stone bridge arch covered in ivy and moss in soft May light, Sèvre Nantaise Clisson, Canon 6D Mark II 70-300mm
Stone bridge arch reflected in high brown Sèvre Nantaise water, lush green summer trees, Clisson, Canon 6D Mark II 70-300mm
Close-up of fern frond covered in orange spore clusters along Sèvre Nantaise riverside path, Clisson, Canon 6D Mark II 24-70mm Macro mode

Messing about along the river in Clisson

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Black and White Photography, Film Photography, Street Photography, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

Good morning Dear Reader, I have been out with my camera. What a surprise I hear you say. I have been missing my Canon 6D Mark II but wanted to keep using my lovely lenses. Sometimes the 50 is great, but it’s nice to break out the zoom! I have the 24-70mm EF F4 because I’m not forking out the money for the F2.8 version. But I wanted to go with film. So I did! With the Canon EOS 500 and a roll of Agfaphoto APX 400.

I parked next to the river and ended up looking up at the Castle on the hill and thinking, strangely, of a certain Mr Sheeran, but without the teen angst and drinking. I think it looks lovely. To my right was the river and the old bridge and a vantage point to look at the Sèvre Nantaise coming over the weir. I thought about the photos I’d taken in February, as well as all the others taken over the years.

I took a right at the Café des Cordeliers but instead of going along to the Garenne Lemot park, I took a left down a passage to a place I had only looked at but never visited. Today my panama hat would become my explorer’s hat and I would take a closer look. Well what a surprise it was and definitely a butcher’s.

I remember some advice given to me which is the need to turn around and look behind you and see if you’ve missed anything, and have a real look and you might even see something completely different… This time I took that advice and it was more than worth it.

I would have missed the viaduct I’d driven over before, the one that runs from Clisson towards Gétigné, which I might have to look at sometime soon. The river was reflecting light on the arches and I could have finished the roll there and I would have been happy, but I kept a couple of frames “just in case” for the walk back to the car. You never know…

I walked back to the car just looking up and seeing the laundry hanging out.  It looked like canoeing gear that was drying.  Then back across the bridge, and I was happy with the variety the 24-70mm lens gave me.  Less distortion than my 16-35mm but still enough for some variety, especially the Macro feature for the fern spores.  We can have distortion another time.

All in all a very satisfying trip out and not far away, have you seen the price of diesel lately?  Thank you Orange man!

P.S.  If you want to wean yourself off digital and get back to the street cred that comes with film the Canon EOS 500 might just be your gateway drug.  Modern enough for the new EF lenses, but still having the necessary autofocus.  You can go full manual SLR later.  Break yourself in gently…

Black and white street scene in Clisson showing stone buildings, an estate agency, and the ornate Romanesque bell tower of Notre-Dame de Clisson rising behin
Black and white photograph of a stone arch bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, with multi-storey townhouses and the Restaurant de la Vallée visible behind.
Wide black and white view of the stone arch bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, with the town's riverfront buildings stretching across the frame.
Dramatic low-angle black and white photograph looking up at the ruined interior tower of Château de Clisson, stone walls rising steeply against a pale sky.
Black and white photograph of a weathered stone cross on the parapet of a bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, with a mill building and weir visible behind.
Black and white landscape view of the Sèvre Nantaise weir in Clisson, with the converted mill hotel on the left and a chapel visible to the right through bare trees.
Black and white photograph of stone buildings along the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, featuring tall arched windows, a spiral metal staircase, and a terrace above the water.
Black and white photograph of the Café des Cordeliers on a street corner in Clisson, a traditional French café with a painted sign and potted plants outside.
Black and white photograph of a building corner in Clisson with a large painted mural depicting a tropical jungle scene, a figure walking away in the background.
Black and white photograph of tattered fabric bunting or prayer flags strung between posts above garden hedging, with trees silhouetted behind against a bright sky.
Black and white photograph of a narrow dirt path flanked by ivy-covered stone walls, leading toward parked cars and houses in the distance, Clisson.
Close-up black and white macro photograph of fern fronds showing clusters of spore cases on the undersides of the leaves, shot with shallow depth of field.
Black and white photograph of white calla lily flowers growing at the edge of the Sèvre Nantaise in Clisson, dark water and tree reflections filling the upper frame.
Black and white photograph of the medieval bridge over the Sèvre Nantaise reflected in still water, calla lilies in the foreground, an ivy-covered wall framing the right edge.
Black and white photograph of the stone viaduct near Clisson reflected in the Sèvre Nantaise below, four tall arches rising symmetrically above the still water.
Black and white photograph of a white canoe moored on the Sèvre Nantaise in front of the stone viaduct near Clisson, bare trees framing the upper right.
Abstract black and white photograph looking up through the nested Gothic arches of the Clisson viaduct from directly below, stone masonry receding into darkness.
Low-angle black and white photograph of a single stone pier of the Clisson viaduct rising from the river, one arch visible above, taken from close to the water's edge.
Black and white photograph looking up at the Clisson viaduct from below, bare winter tree branches reaching into the upper left of the frame against a pale sky.
Black and white photograph looking up at the Clisson viaduct from below, bare winter tree branches reaching into the upper left of the frame against a pale sky.
Black and white photograph of cascading white wisteria flowers against a sunlit wall, deep shadows behind, shot on 35mm film in Clisson.
Black and white photograph of ornate wrought iron gates set in weathered stone pillars, a cypress tree and period house visible beyond, Clisson.
Black and white photograph of laundry — possibly canoeing gear — drying on a rack in a stone-framed window recess, dramatic shadow arcs sweeping across the wall on either side.

YOU CAN’T BUY HAPPINESS, BUT…

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, Nantes Photography, Reportage, Street Photography, The Film ArchivesTagged , , , , , 8 Comments

What Nantes teaches me about the good life

“ON NE PEUT PAS ACHETER LE BONHEUR MAIS ON PEUT ACHETER DU BON VIN.”

You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy good wine.

I found this handwritten on a Nantes café window, and it stopped me cold. Not because it was profound, but because it was honest. The French don’t promise happiness — they promise pleasure. And they’ve built entire cities around this philosophy.

I walked through Nantes for days with my camera, trying to understand what makes a city not just beautiful, but livable. What I found changed how I think about urban life.

The lampposts told me everything. Not mere functional poles, but sculptural objects — twisted metal trees with globed lights, as if someone asked: why shouldn’t street furniture be art?

This question was everywhere. In the Passage Pommeraye, a 19th-century shopping arcade where statues line ornate balconies and natural light floods through glass ceilings. In the Théâtre Graslin, where neoclassical columns frame a cultural temple that feels both monumental and welcoming.

Nantes treats beauty as infrastructure, not luxury. The city is meticulously designed but never precious. Historical preservation and contemporary life coexist without tension. Beauty isn’t gated—it’s in the streets, the squares, the passages. This is democracy in action: the insistence that everyone deserves to walk through beauty every day.

They sat on a bench in Cours Cambronne, an elderly couple, backs to my camera, watching life unfold behind an iron fence. They weren’t waiting for anything. They were simply being, in a city that had built space for exactly this: the luxury of unhurried presence.

Later, inside the Passage Pommeraye, a solitary figure sat in a bistro chair surrounded by statues and columns, resting or reading or just thinking. Alone, but not lonely. Present in beauty on their own terms.

Great cities understand something crucial: urban life isn’t just about community. It’s about choice. You can be alone in public without isolation. You can observe without participating. You can rest without justification. Nantes accommodates both connection and contemplation, and this is dignity — the freedom to exist in public space however you choose.

The espresso cup sat empty on its saucer, the last drops evaporating. Someone had been here, recently. They’d had their small pleasure — five minutes of warmth and caffeine and pause. Now they were gone, and the cup remained: evidence that happiness might be unbuyable, but this — a good coffee, a moment of rest — was accessible to anyone with a few euros and the willingness to sit down.

This is the real philosophy of Nantes: you don’t need to be happy all the time. You need access to small, reliable joys. Good coffee. Good food. Good company, or good solitude. A beautiful square to sit in. A tram to carry you home. A bicycle locked to a post, waiting for your return.

This is the real philosophy of Nantes: you don’t need to be happy all the time. You need access to small, reliable joys. Good coffee. Good food. Good company, or good solitude. A beautiful square to sit in. A tram to carry you home. A bicycle locked to a post, waiting for your return.

The French understand: happiness is abstract and permanent, a state you chase. Pleasure is concrete and temporary, a moment you inhabit. One is exhausting to pursue. The other is sustainable to practice.

The bicycle stood locked to its post, basket empty, front wheel aligned with the cobblestones. It wasn’t going anywhere right now. It was simply there, part of the city’s quiet infrastructure of possibility. When its owner returned, it would carry them somewhere — work, home, a café, a friend. For now, it waited. Like the empty chairs on terraces, like the benches in squares, like the trams at their platforms.

Nantes has built a city that waits for you, that makes room for you, that offers small pleasures without demanding grand happiness. You can’t buy joy, it seems to say. But you can buy a good espresso, and sit down, and see what happens next.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

Here is the full lot of photos taken at the begining of March on HP5 (box speed) and 4 photos on Rollei RPX 400, all shot with the Nikon FE, and developed in Ilfosil3 1:9. For me they represent different aspects of Nantes – Bouffay, Place Graslin, la place Cambronne, la rue Crébillon, le passage Pommeraye, et la rue de la Paix.

Black and white photograph of an empty café interior in Nantes, leather banquette seating in the foreground, a single espresso cup on a table visible through the window beyond.
Black and white photograph of a crowded café terrace in Nantes with people seated at bistro chairs in bright winter sun, a tram passing in the background.
lack and white street photograph of Rue Crébillon in Nantes, pedestrians casting long shadows across the wide pavement in low winter light, Haussmann-style buildings receding into the distance.
Black and white photograph of a busy café terrace in Nantes, a woman in a white coat reading at a table in the foreground, the square and shops visible behind.
Black and white photograph of people sitting on the steps of the Théâtre Graslin in Nantes, one person feeding a pigeon, the ornate lamppost and neoclassical columns framing the scene.
Black and white photograph of people playing in the open space of Cours Cambronne in Nantes, a statue visible in the middle distance, bare winter trees and Haussmann buildings lining the square.
Black and white photograph of two people standing together in a Nantes square, bare pollarded trees behind them, Haussmann buildings in the background.
Black and white photograph of two elderly people with white hair seen from behind, seated together on a park bench in Cours Cambronne, Nantes, an ornate iron fence and figures beyond.v
Black and white photograph of heavy iron gates in Nantes, several people visible through the bars, a grand white building with tall windows in the background.
Black and white photograph looking up at one of the distinctive ornate metal tree-form lampposts of Place Graslin in Nantes, twisted branches and globe lights against an overcast sky.
Black and white photograph of the neoclassical façade of the Théâtre Graslin in Nantes framed by shrubs, a lone figure walking across the square in front of the Corinthian columns.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes café window with the handwritten French phrase "On ne peut pas acheter le bonheur mais on peut acheter du bon vin" — you can't buy happiness but you can buy good wine.
Black and white photograph of an empty café terrace on a Nantes street, bistro chairs and tables in the foreground, string lights above, pedestrians and shop fronts beyond.
Black and white photograph of two women seated at an outdoor café table on a narrow Nantes street, a sushi restaurant sign and pedestrians visible further down the lane.
Black and white photograph looking down through the ornate multi-level interior of the Passage Pommeraye in Nantes, classical statues lining the balconies, shoppers on the ground floor below.
Black and white photograph of a solitary person seated in a bistro chair on an upper level of the Passage Pommeraye in Nantes, classical columns and statues behind them, empty chairs around.
Black and white photograph of a narrow street in the Bouffay quarter of Nantes, a waiter arranging chairs outside a bar with a Guinness sign, a solitary figure walking through the middle distance.
Black and white photograph of a narrow street in the Bouffay quarter of Nantes, a waiter arranging chairs outside a bar with a Guinness sign, a solitary figure walking through the middle distance.
Black and white photograph of a large crowded café terrace on Place da Bouffay in Nantes, young people at tables in the foreground, a statue and city buildings behind, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes tram on a cobbled boulevard lined with bare plane trees, tram lines converging in the foreground, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a Nantes tram on line 1 to François Mitterrand arriving at the Bouffay stop, passengers on the platform, a second tram alongside, bare plane trees above.
Close-up black and white photograph of a near-empty Cafés Richard espresso cup on a saucer and tray on a café table in Nantes, a blurred figure in the background, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a row of Martin Hot Sauce bottles displayed on a wooden shelf in a Nantes shop, each with a different illustrated label, shot on Rollei RPX 400.
Black and white photograph of a bicycle with a front basket locked to a post on a Nantes pavement, front wheel facing the street, shot on Rollei RPX 400.

More Light Than We Imagine

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Shooting Nantes at Night with HP5+

One September evening I walked between Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries with the Nikon FE and a roll of HP5+. Box speed—400 ASA. No pushing. No stand development. Just me, tired eyes, and the hope the city would be kind.

It wasn’t always.

Some frames failed outright. Missed focus—my eyes couldn’t lock the split-image patch in the dim light. Others blurred from camera shake at 1/15th, handholding like a fool. I won’t pretend those shots have hidden merit. They’re gone. But the ones that landed? They held more than I expected.

Because Nantes at night isn’t dark. Restaurants pour light onto wet cobbles. Shop signs, streetlamps, even those little menu stands outside cafés—they all feed the scene. I’d guess the focus, press the shutter, and move on. Later, scanning the roll, I found detail in shadows I thought were lost. Not because I’d exposed well—I hadn’t—but because HP5+ gathered what was there even when I fumbled.

That’s latitude in practice. Not a spec sheet promise, but the difference between a usable negative and a blank one when your hands shake and your eyes fail. I didn’t push to 1600. I didn’t need to. I just needed a film that wouldn’t punish me for being human.

The December shots are more traditional street work—grey skies, low sun, the light you expect. Even the coffee cup photo owes something to Instagram. I won’t deny it. We absorb what we see online; it seeps into our framing without us noticing. No shame in that—it’s just how we learn now.

But the September shots that worked feel more like my own. Standing in Place Bouffay as evening deepened, watching light pool around tables and bounce off stone—I wasn’t chasing a look. I was just there, squinting, hoping. And HP5+ met that without fuss.

I’m not claiming mastery. I’m claiming a few good frames out of a roll that also held misses. That feels honest. Cities don’t go dark—they transform. And sometimes, even with bad eyesight and shaky hands, a simple roll of film gives you just enough to keep walking.

All photographs shot on Ilford HP5+ at 400 ASA, developed in standard chemistry. Nikon FE, Nantes—December 2025 and September 2025, Place Bouffay and rue des Petits Écuries.

NORTHUMBRIAN SUMMER PART IV

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Art, Black and White Photography, Family Life, History, Reportage, Scotland, Street Photography, The UK Chronicles, Travel photography, United KingdomTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Edinburgh, Scotland 2025

We’re still in Edinburgh. We’re walking down the Royal Mile. It’s festival season. There are plenty of shows to watch, and the one we saw first was by Max Von Trapp. Not to be confused with the Sound of Music Von Trapps, but a comic magician. One of my favourite kinds. The jokes and tricks rolled fast, as did my laughter.. Kate laughs at all the jokes, even the more adult-focused ones, just like Killian did when we visited the festival when he was that age.

Saint Giles was our next stop. As you know, I’m Catholic, not Protestant. As we wandered through the national Cathedral of Scotland, I was struck not only by the beautiful organ music, but by the lack of the familiar Stations of the Cross, the statues. The centre of attention was not the Lord and the sacrifice of the Mass, but the preacher’s pulpit. I felt this lack and prayed my daily Rosary, head bowed in prayer.

I joined Kate outside, slightly perturbed by the experience.

Lunch was a kebab. Simple and delicious. Kate loved it.

It was time to move on to see Greyfriars Bobby, a wee brown dog, famous for his loyalty. The legend is such that the people of Edinburgh raised a statue to honour him, and people rub his nose either for luck or as a sign of affection. I went into the Greyfriars Pub for some Guinness, reflecting on my own dog Molly, now 16, who greets me every morning as if I’m her favourite person and gets all excited when I get home from work. I can see why wee Bobby was a legendary dog, and why he inspired so many people.

We wandered through the graveyard looking at the tombs of the citizens of Edinburgh from the past. And we found a certain Thomas Riddell who JK Rowling used in her books. Kate acquiesced and allowed me to take her photo in front of it.

We ventured towards the Covenanters’ section of the graveyard, supposedly the most haunted section. I felt nothing and saw nothing, but Kate started to have a headache. We paid our respects and decided to find Bobby’s grave at the entrance. Kate noticed the sticks put on his grave, as you might leave a favourite dog toy. She just had to go and find him a suitable stick. Bless that dog. Teaching us a valuable lesson in pure love years after his death.

We ventured back out onto the streets of Edinburgh, leaving the relative tranquility of the graveyard behind us. This was about to be the reason she wanted to come to Edinburgh in the first place: a cocktail bar. But not any ordinary cocktail bar. The Geek Bar, decorated every four months into a new theme. The theme she wanted was from a video game that she plays with Killian. Oh no—they’d changed everything… It was now all about Stranger Things on Netflix—something I had heard by name but knew nothing else about.

Liquor? Maybe quicker, but it’s not something I’m a great fan of. The lady took our order and explained the concept. I felt as if I was in Starbucks for the first time. She asked which flavours I liked, and with her expert help, I made up my mind. The drink was obviously dangerous—too smooth, too sweet—and I couldn’t feel the alcohol. Neither could Kate, who was only allowed a mocktail. I have to be a responsible parent after all. The second round was just as deadly, and I was beginning to feel very happy. I wonder why…

So maybe, at the end of all this, the real magic isn’t in the tricks or the drinks or even the famous city. It’s just—being there. Following your children into their weird, wonderful universes, and watching them set the place on fire with laughter.
And really, what’s better than that?

Also in this series: Preface  ·  Lesbury  ·  Alnmouth  ·  Bamburgh  ·  Alnwick  ·  Rothbury  ·  Hepple  ·  Chesters  ·  Return  ·  B&W Footnote  ·  Summer I  ·  Summer II  ·  Summer III  ·  Summer IV

NORTHUMBRIAN SUMMER PART III

Posted on Posted in Architecture, Black and White Photography, History, Reportage, Scotland, Street Photography, The UK Chronicles, Travel photography, United KingdomTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Edinburgh, Scotland 2025

It was my daughter’s turn to have some Dad time. Before we left France, I asked both children to think about what they wanted to do the most in the UK. Both of them said they wanted to go to Scotland—Edinburgh in particular. The Lourdes trip when I took them both had drained the coffers…

Killian had been.
Virginie had been.
Kate had never been.

It was my daughter’s turn to have me all for herself.

When I told them,
Killian nodded. “That’s fair.”
Virginie smiled. “We’ll do something together.”
And just like that, it was settled.
This day would be hers.
Just her. Just me.
Edinburgh, at last.

It would be a long day. I wanted to give her a full day—to let the city work its magic… We couldn’t visit everything, but for the first time I thought of Princes Street, and the Royal Mile, and Greyfriars Kirkyard. She’s fifteen—shopping first, history later—yet I’d offer her the quiet places anyway.

I just wanted her to feel the city, not just the shops.

We could always come back.

And next time, she’d walk these streets not because I brought her,
but because she chose to.

We walked along Princes Street looking at the chainstores, even daring to go into H&M but soon left once we realised that you have to be skinny to dress there. We moved on to M&S and had our second breakfast. The bacon roll she had on the train was “interesting” but hardly filling. I saw outfits that I thought she might like but was told, non!

I was on the lookout for a tweed spectacle case but despite looking in numerous tweed shops, I only saw the same things over and over again. I was disappointed, but Kate wasn’t! She saw a beautiful tartan étole that called out to her…

How could I refuse her? It would be perfect for winter and the wool was so soft.

We crossed the bridge next to the National Gallery,
Festival posters peeling in the wind.

Then she stopped—a shadowed shop glowing with silver.
The same one where Killian chose his claddagh six years ago.
“Like Killian’s,” she said, tapping the glass.
Not a question. A claim.

Inside, the air smelled of wool and old metal.
She ran her finger over the trays—
Past the ornate knots, straight to the simplest ring.
“This one,” she told the jeweler. “Like my brother’s.”

I watched her try it on, heart facing outward.
Right hand. My heart is free. (I didn’t need to say it.)
“For remembering,” she whispered.
Not “growing up.”
Just: This is mine now too.

Edinburgh breathed around us—
alive, urgent, temporary.

Also in this series: Preface  ·  Lesbury  ·  Alnmouth  ·  Bamburgh  ·  Alnwick  ·  Rothbury  ·  Hepple  ·  Chesters  ·  Return  ·  B&W Footnote  ·  Summer I  ·  Summer II  ·  Summer III  ·  Summer IV

NORTHUMBRIAN SUMMER PART 1

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Alnmouth 2025

I came back to Alnmouth not just to see my parents, but because the place has become part of me and maybe in some very small way we had become part of Alnmouth.

Each visit is different. Sometimes I’m chasing “the” image. Sometimes, like this year, I’m just learning how to sit still.  This is the tale of the other part of Summer.  The UK part of Summer.  The Northumberland part of Summer.  Going home to visit my parents, and show them the children.  It was a Tuesday, I know this because I checked the metadata on my phone.  My mother had decreed that she would go with Virginie (my wife) and the children to Morpeth to do some clothes shopping.  I would have a day with my father.  

It was to be a quiet day with a father and his son catching up and putting the world to rights as we often do during our weekly telephone calls. Which reminds me, I must call on the way home from work. He often talks about walking around the village and always bumping into people he knows. A hello here, a hello there…

More than anything it was a day out with my father.  Which is rare, so I decided to take advantage of his company and ever present wisdom.  Whatever was to happen I had my X100F with me to capture everything.

He decided that we were going to go for a walk in the village as he is wont to do.  I wanted to pay my respects to Scotts of Alnmouth as I do every time I come to Alnmouth.  We follow each other on Instagram and always say hello when I’m “in town.”  It costs nothing to say hello and you never know, it might make that person’s day.  It may even make your day!  With an espresso and black currant muffin, I bade farewell to Scotts of Alnmouth for the year telling them “See you next year.”  

Dad just wanted to drop into the village shop to say hello too.  Why?  Because he’s a lovely man and saying hello costs nothing.  Just a small gesture.  Am I repeating myself?  Ah well…  My father had a spot that he wanted to show me.  This spot overlooked the golf course, the beach, and out to sea we could make out Coquet Island and its lighthouse.  

When I was younger,

the idea of sitting on a park bench,

just sitting there,

would have been impossible.

Yet the man I am at 53?

I revel in it.

When you only get back once a year,

you realise you might have only weeks left

with your father.

And those moments—

silent, shared, ordinary—

become sacred.

There’s no need to talk.

Even when we do.

Just being next to this man is enough.

I see myself in him too.

The way we walk.

What we pause to see.

Just those small things.

My future? 

Also in this series: Preface  ·  Lesbury  ·  Alnmouth  ·  Bamburgh  ·  Alnwick  ·  Rothbury  ·  Hepple  ·  Chesters  ·  Return  ·  B&W Footnote  ·  Summer I  ·  Summer II  ·  Summer III  ·  Summer IV

Summer 2025 Part IV.  What I Gave Them at the Grotto.

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Mass, Ice Cream, and the Retour

Setting the House in Order

I owe it to my children to be the best father possible.  A priest once gave me this advice:  Whatever you do for your children, do it with love.  And that if I do that then I won’t go too far wrong.  I wanted to bring them to Lourdes and show them my faith. 

My son always says that, each time we go to Lourdes, something changes.  The last time was the nun, this time it was the desire to do sport and get even more back on track.  For Kate it was being exposed to something different.  It might have been God’s creation in the mountains, or just seeing that I’m not the guy who goes to mass, and who prays…

Maybe we’ll never know.  But the faith isn’t something that you impose.  It is something that can be introduced in gentleness and humility.  Seeing Dad go to confession and then to mass might just have left its mark upon her.  Maybe that is what I gave them at the grotto.

It was Sunday. That meant returning to the Sanctuaire for Mass—a last thank you to Our Lady in the Grotto, lunch, and then, for dessert, Burger King ice cream with the mountains laid out before us.

Before leaving, the house had to be set back in order—towels and bedding piled for washing, bags zipped, keys returned. Killian was up bright—almost—and early, already in gear. I was coaxing my diesel brain awake. Kate was still asleep. Pretty normal, if you ask me. She’s not a morning person. With her it’s always the softly-softly approach.

We gathered outside at last, the three of us dressed appropriately for Mass. Kate looked radiant in her dress—gone are the days of childhood. She is a young woman now. We only made sure her shoulders were covered before we left.

The Way She Knew

“Papaaaaaa”—tone number three: I want something.
 “Can I take the jumper from the back of the car?”
“Yes,” I said. “Take the jumper—but don’t forget, it’s mine.”

Every trip to Lourdes leaves me grateful I came—and wishing I could stay. It’s strange how quickly a place becomes home. The children were already debating who would control the car radio. It wouldn’t be me.

We parked where we usually do and headed down to the sanctuary. Chocolatines in hand—this is the South-West, after all—I tried explaining to them why it wasn’t a “pain au chocolat.” I doubt I convinced anyone.

I knew the name of the chapel where Mass would be said, but not the way. Kate did. She deserves more credit than she gets.

Beside Me

Mass was in English. After thirty years in France, it felt strange yet familiar. “And with your spirit” still jars in English, though I say it every week in French and in Latin.

But what mattered most wasn’t the words. It was having them beside me. That turned Mass into something more. Into a legacy. Into my spiritual gift to them — something I hope will outlast even me.

Grainy. Imperfect. Like Love.

 We ate Indian food for lunch. Had ice cream at Burger King, overlooking the same mountains that had watched us that weekend. A good way to begin the long drive back to reality…

I didn’t take many photos that day—Kate and Killian together in the sanctuary, sunlight cutting across their shoulders. Kentmere, 100 ASA, f/8. Slightly grainy. Imperfect. Like faith. Like fatherhood. Like love.

Maybe that’s all I ever gave them.

And maybe it’s enough. 

Summer 2025, Part II: Faith, Family, and the Road to Lourdes

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The Lourdes trip.

The Plan: Stress-Free or Bust

I wanted the trip down south to Lourdes to be a quiet one—especially for Kate. Stress-free, as much as possible. I can do this. No stress. Who needs stress anyway? My wife? Definitely not! No shouty-shouty, nothing.

There was an era in French driving when people thought nothing of a five-hour dash. I am not of that persuasion. Not my thing. If I want to stop, I will stop. We had one goal: get to Lourdes—and not die on the way. If that happened… my wife would kill me!

On the Road: Wine, Pines, and a Good Co-Pilot

The only thing I insisted on was that Killian, my son, be my co-pilot on the Bordeaux ring road. His support on our last trip had been invaluable. He has a knack for staying calm and guiding me gently. As we went past Cognac, Jonzac, Saint-Émilion, and Blaye, I could almost taste the wine on my lips—but no, just keep driving, as Dory might say.

South of Bordeaux, other names began to appear: Graves, Cadillac (the wine, not the car), Sauternes, and eventually the Landes, with their towering Pins Maritimes. Then came signs for Madiran—a nice little tipple!

First Sight of the Mountains

Kate was in the back seat, seeing the mountains for the first time. As soon as the Pyrénées appeared on the horizon, we told her, “Those aren’t clouds—they’re mountains.” She seemed to share our awe. She was also amazed that I didn’t say no to snacks, especially the chocolate chip cookies. Killian got me a coffee to keep me going until we arrived. Good man.

Saturday Morning in Lourdes

Saturday morning would be for God, and Saturday afternoon for the mountains.

We set off relatively early—or, in my fifteen-year-old daughter’s eyes, the crack of dawn. We parked where we had during our last visit and walked gently down toward the Sanctuary. I didn’t even have to stop the children from entering each shop, intent on burning a hole in my bank card. The majority were still shut. And there might be some of you thinking I did that on purpose!

We popped into the café: Killian and I had espresso with croissants, while Kate enjoyed hot chocolate and a tartine of bread with unsalted butter. I felt so bad for her—we live in a region where salted butter is almost sacred! We thanked our waiter, amused by the children speaking French to me while I replied in a different language.

Faith, Water, and Candles

The morning was for God. I went to confession, half-hoping the nun from last time—the one who had made such an impression on Killian—would still be there. She wasn’t, but that was fine. We drifted toward the grotto and said a quiet prayer to Our Lady. Kate seemed less impressed than we were, and I secretly hoped she might feel something. We asked about the baths, but they had reached the daily limit. I still managed to have them sprinkle the healing waters of Lourdes on their faces.

As we crossed the bridge, we spotted a fish—Kate was delighted. She lingered, fascinated by the enormous candles left by pilgrims, each wrapped with prayers. We lit our own candles and said “our” prayers. I checked the mass times for the next day—and found them! No idea where the mass would be, but Kate got us there. Today was Saturday… not Sunday yet.

These photos were taken on the Nikon FE using HP5+ film shot at box speed.

Browse the full Film Archives →

Coming Soon

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Scotland, Street Photography, The UK Chronicles, Travel photography, United Kingdom, Urban, VideoTagged , , , , , 17 Comments

Yes, we went back to the UK on holiday, but before that, I had a trip with the children to Lourdes, and with film cameras, and the X100F just in case. the articles are written and all I have to do now is to develop some film and scan it. Damn you procrastination. I just have to start one and the rest will follow.

China – Shao Xing to Xian Ju

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Welcome back to China. It is the morning of the 2nd of January. The whole tour seems to have flown by, and my memory is already hazy. I remember going around Shao Xing, and I remember the concert in Xian Ju, but beyond that? Not much.

I don’t usually black out, even after a drinky-poo, but it feels like I forgot to press Control+S. No saves to rely on. Bugger. Maybe it’s the thought of going home tomorrow? The dread of the parenthesis closing?

Strangely, I wasn’t even fed up with sharing a room with Corentin, and bus rides with everyone were still enjoyable. Definitely bizarre. It can’t be Blue Monday yet!

Anyway. The previous evening, while I was exploring the park, some of my colleagues had stumbled upon a scenic residential area—just the kind of place I’d love to capture in my last shots of China. This wasn’t the posh China of Shenzhen; this felt like a more “authentic” part of town.

And it was stunning, as you’ll see later in the photos—filled with all the quintessential imagery of China: round entrances leading to inner courtyards, red lanterns preparing for the Chinese New Year, fish drying under the rafters, boats drifting along the canals, humpback bridges, mopeds zipping past, and an old lady eating her rice for breakfast. Even Confucius was there—his wisdom guiding us through the streets.

I had heard about this little quarter at dinner the night before. My colleagues had waxed lyrical about it, so off I went, camera in hand. Now, you know my sense of direction—getting lost, or at best, off track, is inevitable. I was told: “Turn left outside the hotel, walk about ten minutes, and you can’t miss it.” Which, of course, is exactly the kind of thing I do miss.

But not today. For once, my terrible sense of direction didn’t fail me—God must have been smiling on me that morning.

All of a sudden I was there, walking around with my camera at the ready remembering to take colour photographs because my wife had asked me to.  I meandered through the street watching the morning rituals, people clearing their throats and spitting on the ground, better out than in, people eating their rice for breakfast.  The place seemed to be waking up gently, and the mopeds taking their passengers to work and not driving too fast either.  

There was one moped that thought he could make it over the bridge in one go.  He tried a few times, but obviously it wasn’t going to happen, because it would have made a wonderful photograph.  The man got off the thing, and walked it across the bridge and seemed to appreciate my clapping him over.  Encouragement is as universal as something very universal.  

I kept wandering around with no fixed idea of what to do or see.  I could see a kettle boing for the tea, and felt a slight pang of jealousy.  I was of course, tealess.  I reached the outside of the quarter, and just headed back in at the sign.  I had seen a wicker chair which would have been perfect for my afternoon snoozes.

As I came back in, people seem to have awoken from their slumber, and the small shops started to open. There were all kinds of things for sale. Chinese New year decorations, clothes that were lovely but might have been a tad small for my more rotund frame. There were shops selling brooms and pans. It was definitely buy local…

As I left for the last time and having taken my phtoographs, I passed Sarah, a fellow photographer, who had obviously awoken slightly later then myself.  We of course said good morning and wished her luck with her camera.  

I mozied on down, back to the hotel to pick up my suitcase and horn, getting ready for the trip to Xian Ju.  And this is where my memory goes a little fuzzy, like my camera out of focus. I remember the concert, sure, but everything else? It’s like my mind just pressed pause. A temporary freeze-frame.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How the mind works in these moments. Maybe it’s the thought of the long journey home—the “parenthesis” closing, as it were. The feeling of something coming to an end, but not quite ready to leave. That lingering moment between chapters, when you’re not sure if you’re truly finished yet.

But then again, I’ll leave that for next time. Perhaps when I’m home, looking back on these images, I’ll see it clearer. For now, though, I can’t remember a thing—not for the life of me.

Also in this series: Introduction  ·  Changsha  ·  Yongzhou  ·  Foshan  ·  Shenzhen Day 2  ·  Shenzhen Nights  ·  Shenzhen Day 3  ·  Shenzhen Day 4  ·  Hangzhou  ·  Shao Xing I  ·  Shao Xing II  ·  Xian Ju  ·  Homeward Bound  ·  Transformation  ·  Uncle  ·  The Final Frame

China – Shao Xing

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New Year’s Day

Welcome back to China, Dear Reader. When I last left you, we were on the bus somewhere between Hangzhou and Shao Xing. I’m pleased to report that we made it safe and sound, and that Corentin and I now had two keys to our room. It was still sunny—a joy to be alive. Thank you, happy pills. Our room had all the mod cons, though there was a quirk: if one of us was on the loo, we’d slide the door across for privacy. Unfortunately, that meant the person taking a shower lost their privacy. Still, I couldn’t see anything from the loo, so my roomie’s modesty was safe.

Speaking of toilets, we encountered quite a range during our travels. In the service stations, they were the French “chiottes à la Turque,” which are nothing like the Mozart Rondo, but certainly more pungent. Then there were the “ordinary” toilets, followed by the ones whose lids lifted automatically as you passed, and finally the pièce de résistance: the Japanese-style toilet, which remained resolutely Chinese.

This marvel had a heated seat—luxury in itself. You had to lift the lid manually (slumming it in the Stone Age again), but once seated, nature took its course in unparalleled comfort. The real magic began when you pressed a button: a mechanism extended to spray water precisely where needed. There was even a function for ladies. And after the water came the air, drying everything off! I double-checked with toilet paper, of course, but it had done an impeccable job. Truly, a game-changer. As Forrest Gump said, “That’s all I have to say about that!”

Now, let’s move quickly on from toilet humour (as universal as it may be) to the park next to our hotel. We were on the 22nd floor and had a marvellous view of the city centre. I could even see that night’s venue from our room and decided to explore the area, camera in hand. The winter sunlight was soft—bright but not blinding—perfect for photography. I wanted to capture the impression of Shao Xing, not just through candid portraits of people but through its landscapes and atmosphere. My aim was to convey the city’s essence, much like an impressionist painting, but with a camera instead of a brush.

The park was alive with activity. Aunties and uncles sat on benches, chatting animatedly and observing the world go by. One Aunty beckoned me to join her, and I obliged. She greeted me with a thumbs-up—a universally positive gesture, except when hitchhiking in Greece, where it’s a faux pas. Using the translator in Alipay, I explained that I was a horn player with the visiting orchestra and would be performing that night in the concert hall across the park. This app is a godsend in China, though I briefly considered going back to study the language. My wife might not be thrilled with me disappearing for six months, though.

As we sat, the Aunty hummed a Chinese song. I was transported elsewhere, nearly dozing off in the sunlight—a habit I seemed to be developing. Thanking her for her company, I wandered further into the park. The sunlight filtered through the trees, highlighting the park’s serene beauty. I came across a single artist practicing calligraphy on the ground, using water instead of ink. His strokes were delicate and ephemeral—a fleeting masterpiece destined to evaporate. Children played with marbles nearby, using the sculpted floor as their playground. The juxtaposition of timeless tradition and youthful play captured the spirit of China for me. Above it all, a pagoda stood proudly, with an airship hovering in the background—a striking blend of the classic and the modern.

Reluctantly, I left the park to prepare for our penultimate concert. The thought of returning to the mundanity of home life began to weigh on me. This tour had been a gift, filled with unforgettable experiences and people. I wasn’t ready for it to end.

The concert hall was just across the park, and I strolled over leisurely—no need to rush; a gentleman never runs. The theatre director and his team greeted us warmly, their hospitality as magical as ever. Some brass players had prepared a fanfare to welcome the audience, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Selfies were taken in abundance, and someone was even live-streaming for TikTok.

The concert itself went beautifully, with the usual audience participation adding to the magic. Afterward, the theatre manager addressed us, reminding us of the event’s purpose: celebrating Franco-Sino relations and their 60th anniversary. His French was excellent, and his enthusiasm infectious. They had prepared a spread for us—a delightful picnic with beer aplenty. As the night progressed, the manager led by example, dancing and motivating his team to let loose. Seeing their boss in this light seemed to surprise them.

I left the party early, taking a quiet stroll back to the hotel. The park, now illuminated, looked entirely different. The pagoda glowed softly and had changed character, and became the central element to the park.  Meanwhile, Corentin extended the festivities at a local bar, where the owner was treated to an impromptu rendition of Michel Sardou’s “Les Lacs du Connemara.” A night to remember, indeed.

Also in this series: Introduction  ·  Changsha  ·  Yongzhou  ·  Foshan  ·  Shenzhen Day 2  ·  Shenzhen Nights  ·  Shenzhen Day 3  ·  Shenzhen Day 4  ·  Hangzhou  ·  Shao Xing I  ·  Shao Xing II  ·  Xian Ju  ·  Homeward Bound  ·  Transformation  ·  Uncle  ·  The Final Frame